A trip to the other side of nowhere

To get there, we take a national highway to Sonipat and drive through its narrow, crowded markets. Coming out of there, we take the ‘main road’ to Gohana and then turn off into a road-cum-dirt track-cum-paved path, to reach our destination. When the main road is blocked, we take a diversion through three small villages, till we can see the main road again.

The tarmac on these roads hides under layers of dust and bullcrap, turning itself a dull grey-brown in its attempts to blend into its surroundings. It doesn’t succeed, though – the dominant colour in this landscape is green. The shiny bright green of well-watered fields, the yellow-green of ripening corn, the deep black-green of clusters of jamun trees. We turn a corner and cross a culvert over a tank full of blue-gray-brown water, but here the road is just dust.

I look up when I hear our horn tooted impatiently the bullock cart in front of us with its load of a black bicycle lying on top of a few armfuls of hay. It maneouvres out of the way, and we pass it slowly, taking care not to get stuck in the ditches that separate the road from the fields.  There’s a motorcycle on the other side of this ditch, a bright red Rajdoot. A man stands on it, trying to get a footing in the large tree under which it stands.

As if in counterpoint, a group of brightly coloured polyester dupatta covered heads appear in the middle of the next field. An old lady stares at us from her charpai in the porch of the largest pukka house in the village. We slow down to pass a Maruti 800 on the narrow road; the driver, lips pursed in concentration, lifts her ghungated head and smiles at me.

Worldviews need relocation, sometimes.


2 Responses

  1. So u dont mind khanpur kalan that much?

  2. Not that I’m complaining about the general trend of your blog, but this was a nice surprise. 🙂

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